


And If You Fall

by fiercynn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Romance, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2009-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiercynn/pseuds/fiercynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's beliefs are not completely rigid, but he likes to be certain about things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And If You Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zortified](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=zortified).



> Written for the 2006 spn_holidays fic exchange, originally posted [here](http://spn-holidays.livejournal.com/5808.html).

"Christ, Dean, _now?_"

Sam's voice is half-drowsiness, but the other fifty percent is pure, concentrated petulance. Sure, it's two in the morning, but that's no reason to revert to childish attitudes, Dean thinks.

"Yeah, Sammy, now, so up and at 'em," Dean says.

Sam flops back on his bed with a groan. Dean gets some perverse pleasure out of knowing that while Sam is one of those infuriating morning people, he's sure as hell not a middle-of-the-night person. If Paul Revere had banged on Sam's door and called "To arms!", he would've gotten a shouted insult instead of a burst of revolutionary fervor.

Though, if Dean mentions that now, he'll probably get a lecture on the inaccuracy of the Paul Revere story, no matter _how_ tired and annoyed Sam is.

Dean starts stuffing everything into their duffels. "Remind me again, why we're leaving now?" says Sam, still rubbing his face in frustration, but he gets out of bed too, so Dean knows he's won.

"Just got a call from someone named Janice Feldman – apparently an old friend of Ellen's. She's got something of a werewolf problem. It's out in Connecticut, so a nine-hour drive from here –"

"– and tomorrow night's the full moon, yeah, I get it," Sam sighs. "She couldn't have called at a more socially acceptable time?"

Dean snorts a little at that. "Seems like we were her last resort, so no."

Sam grumbles all the way to the car, which Dean thinks is a little unfair – how many times have they left somewhere at the drop of the hat because Sam's had a vision? Plus, as soon as they're in, Sam falls right back asleep. At least Dean doesn't have to deal with his whining for a while, and there's something peaceful about driving in the early hours of the morning.

**

Sam wakes up at about seven, all apologies, and with an offer to drive which usually would've been a plea. But Dean's pretty tired too, so he gives in.

Turns out to be more like a ten-hour drive, so they reach Fairfield just after noon. Dean calls Janice and they agree to meet for lunch at the closest thing to a diner in this town.

Janice is clearly nervous about the whole thing. "So how do you know Ellen?" Dean smiles, while Sam orders a chicken burger.

"Her late husband was my cousin," says Janice. Dean and Sam nod a bit uncomfortably. "We haven't had too much contact since he died – no problems or anything like that, just, I never had much to do with _that_ side of the family anyway."

The implication is clear. Sam frowns a little, but Dean just sips his coffee.

"But I do know the signs when I see them," she continues, and there's a bit more strength in her voice. "At least, enough to know to call for help."

"And Ellen suggested us?" says Sam.

"Well then," says Dean.

**

Sometimes it's nice to not need to do research. Janice doesn't exactly have the hunter's instinct, but she does have journal-writing part down – she's kept a careful account of all the strange events that have gone on in the town, from "nice dog goes rabid" to "nice Honors student found shooting up in the parking lot behind Stop 'n Shop".

She's figured out where the werewolf transforms, though she doesn't know who it is. Dean can tell that she's secretly glad, and hates her just a little bit more. She probably thinks the whole thing is off her conscience, and here are the Winchester brothers, doing the dirty work. But there's the job for you.

They spend the afternoon scoping out the woods, and once night falls, they set up a stakeout.

Then comes the waiting.

"Nice to know that Ellen's trusting us again," Sam says as they crouch at the base of a tree.

Dean snorts. "If you can call it that."

"What does that mean?"

"She suggested us for a job, that's all."

It's dark, but Dean can see Sam's face screwed up in slight puzzlement. "Which means she trusts us to do it right, Dean."

"I don't think our _competence_ was ever in question, Sammy," says Dean.

"Dad's was," Sam says quietly, and Dean can tell that it hurts for him to say it. Ever since Dad's – death, Sam's held off on the "Dad raised us wrong" argument. Dean's not sure Sam even believes it anymore; he's more concerned with how the two of them are dealing with their grief _through_ the job, not questioning the job itself. But Sam has to look at all the angles, all the time.

It would make Dean's head hurt, all those perspectives. It's not that he's more simple-minded – it's just the way he is. Dean's beliefs are not completely rigid, but he likes to be certain about things. (_Only a Sith deals in absolutes_, Sam would try to tell him, but that's bullshit. Besides, everyone knows the prequels are crap.)

Dean sighs. "Look, I don't know what Dad did back then. Maybe he messed up – the man wasn't perfect. But Ellen suggesting us for this job has nothing to do with her trust in us."

"Oh?"

"She still doesn't trust us with Jo, that's the difference." Dean shrugs slightly. "Maybe she's right, since Jo's her daughter. I'm sure she knows that sometimes you need to take risks, or make sacrifices, but she's still looking out for her family."

Now Sam's sitting up. "Wait, what do you mean, sacrifices? Like a person? Like Jo?"

"_Necessary_ sacrifices," Dean says. "Only according to the situation."

"But you like Jo!"

"Yeah, I do, she's a good kid. What's that got to do with it?"

Sam physically recoils from him, and Dean knows that he's gone too far. Instinctively, he regrets it as soon as he says it, because that's not what he means, really. It's just – "Look, she's not one of us," he adds, forcefully, but quietly. "She's not a Winchester. And like Ellen, it's the same for us; we're just taking care of _our_ family."

Sam is staring, his eyes brimming with anger. Somewhere in front of the tree, there's the crack of a twig breaking.

For the first time that Dean can remember, Sam shoots before he does.

**

They hadn't checked into a motel, so sleeping in the Impala would be the best option. But it's a clear, warm night, and after silently cleaning up and dumping the guns in the trunk, neither of them make a move to get inside the car.

"You're too much, you know that," Sam says finally.

"Yeah?" Dean replies.

"You expect me to believe that you really care so little about other people that you'd 'sacrifice' them willingly?"

No. "The issue here isn't how much I care about the lives of other people," is all that Dean replies.

Sam nods jerkily. "So basically you've got some fucked up idea that you've got to protect me all the time, and you're going to use that to justify anything else you have to do, no matter how unconscionable."

"You make me sound like some kind of monster," Dean says, growing angry. "Yeah, I value our family more than anything else, and yeah, I've made some sacrifices. Most of them were parts of my own life, which you should know."

Dean can see Sam softening a little, out of age-old guilt, but Dean ploughs on. "You know what pissed me off the most about this case? That we're always doing the dirty work. Not just physically, but emotionally. And that's what I've done for you, Sam. All my life I've done your dirty work, and you've acted as if it's nothing. You want to talk about fucking sacrifices? I'm the one who's been there for you at the worst times of your life."

"I never asked you for that!" Sam yells.

"You didn't have to. I'm your goddamn brother."

"Then what the hell are you asking for, Dean, huh?"

Dean almost sputters, because he's on the edge of something here that's been brewing for a while, and he can't express anything properly.

"It's - I never, never get anything more of you than - than this, Sam! Your left-over anger and guilt from whatever the hell else is plaguing you, that's what I get. Not the good parts. You ran off to college to give them to people who didn't even know the real you, and you expect me to be happy about it?"

Sam's been shocked into sudden silence, but he's still clearly furious.

"I'm not a monster," Dean says. "Me, after all I've done – I deserve better."

And Dean's said the wrong thing, again. He doesn't actually blame Sam, and doesn't really think he deserves anything. He doesn't even know why he's fighting so hard except that he's been wanting too much from Sam all his life and now it's all bubbling over.

Dean's never going to be able to say what he means. But if he lets Sam argue back, everything will spiral out of control even more.

"You –" Sam gets out, but Dean takes a breath, like diving into a lake, then lunges forward and slams their mouths together.

Sam's body is tense, unyielding, and God, Dean was wrong, things are _still_ spiraling out of control. This is the final move; Dean can't do any more. His body is filled with greed and lust and every sin that he can think of, and his stomach is clenched. Sam is still frozen and Dean's helpless. He can feel all his certainties breaking down and yeah, it's horrible, it's too much.

He can't even make himself pull away, so he pushes, sending Sam staggering into the side of the Impala.

Sammy looks shocked and furious and confused all in one.

Dean can't bear to look at his face, so he looks at Sam's hands. The fingers clench, and Dean knows that he's probably up for a punch right about now.

But instead Sam _grabs_ Dean and pulls him up, as if he won't consent even to lower his head, and kisses him again, hard and bruising. Dean thinks he's going to fall and it's all he can do to keep himself from pushing Sam away again, because sometimes his defense mechanisms overtake his actual senses.

Maybe he was never completely certain, because now he's almost too shocked to hope that he was right.

"God, Dean, you're such a fucking idiot," Sam mutters into Dean's mouth.

And just like that – it's a battle again, but Dean understands, and he's found his footing.

Maybe, maybe, it's okay.

They're kissing, yeah, and Dean bites back, his hands scrabbling at Sam's broad shoulders. He can taste blood on their lips, from one of them or both; it hardly matters. Both of them struggle, their bodies making no concessions, but they both know that they're giving up everything. All or nothing doesn't even begin to describe it.

Sam's got one hand clamped around Dean's neck, and the other splayed on his hipbone, his thumb slipping underneath the waistband of Dean's pants. Dean's got a better grip on Sam's shoulders now, and he shoves a little bit more so that Sam's braced on the car. Somehow, Dean's fantasies have never played out quite like this, but now he can't think why, because this is fulfilling his need like nothing else.

Dean wedges his thigh between Sam's legs, pushing up, feeling the hard metal of his car against his knee. Sam groans and shifts, grinding against Dean's thigh, and Dean is so hard he can barely breathe.

Their kisses turn less painful, but they're still frantic, as if they could lose anything in an instant. It's the way they live, always on the edge. Dean can't help but tighten his grip on Sam's body. He breaks the kiss, but it's only an instant before his mouth is drawn to the long expanse of Sam's bare neck and he leans in again, sucking and scraping his teeth over Sam's collarbone.

"Dean, fuck, no," Sam moans. Dean doesn't think it's a protest.

He's obviously right, because Sam changes tactics, his hand leaving Dean's waist to tug at the fly of his pants. Dean quivers, half in anticipation and half in – well, he doesn't _know_ what, he can't even possibly try to think right now, but something. Sam flicks the button open and moves his hand to Dean's stomach, then down under his boxers, his hand leaving a trail of warmth that Dean can feel prickling into his skin.

Okay, Dean thought his feelings were too much before, when he was drowning in uncertainty and his own bravado, but that was nothing compared to the feeling when Sam grasps his cock with his long, warm fingers. Dean gasps because holy fucking shit, how can this overindulgence of sensations feel so painful and still so good? Sam's stroking now, rough but slow, his thumb rubbing over the head in an infuriatingly amazing way.

Dean wants to say something. Yeah, this whole situation is a result of his inability to express himself through words – not that he's upset about the result – but his feelings keep bubbling up into his mouth as Sam now makes Dean fuck his fist in rapid, uneven movements. But all he can manage is, "_Sammy_, " which makes Sam give in and squeeze, _hard_, and Dean closes his eyes as he comes, sparks behind his eyelids and a jumble of incoherent sounds now exploding from his throat.

It takes Dean a few seconds to realize that even though Sam's removed his hand, he's still clutching at Dean helplessly. Dean's not sure he can still move – but by God, he wants to. He makes himself bite down again nearer Sam's shoulder, and wow, it's amazing that he can still be turned on, at least mentally, when Sam hisses.

But Sam doesn't wait for Dean to help; he pulls Dean by the waist again and thrusts again at Dean's leg. And _oh_, here it is, Sam's tightening his legs around Dean's thigh, which feels fantastic even to Dean, and Sam's body too is shaking, finally, in climax.

Both of them can barely stand, and they half-slump against the Impala. Dean thinks, not for the first time, how much he loves his car for just existing - his reason now may be different than any before, but he's still grateful.

Sam lets go of Dean's neck, finally, and Dean hadn't realized how hard Sam had really been holding him. He's not even going to try to count the new bruises that must have come out of this. It's worth it. Instead, Sam's hand comes to rub at Dean's shoulder, the gentlest gesture either of them has made through all of this, but it seems natural.

"I promise I won't let anyone die for you unless it's absolutely necessary," Dean says, his mouth barely quirking.

Sam laughs a little. "Okay," he says, "okay."

It's meant to be reassuring as well as an agreement.

Well, Dean's not naïve enough to think everything will be okay all the time. But for now, maybe. Maybe.


End file.
